Sunday, September 15, 2013

The Psalm that has been
read this morning contains a devastating account of human nature. The
Psalm relates what I would call a realistic anthropology, that is, it
gives an honest and sober evaluation of our the human condition. The
Psalm reads, “Everyone has proved faithless; all alike have turned
bad; there is none who does good; no, not one.” The traditional
translation of this Psalm reads even more strongly, “But they are
all gone out of the way, they are altogether become abominable; there
is none that doeth good, no not one.” The realistic anthropology of
this Psalm contradicts the prevailing conception in our society which
holds to an optimistic anthropology. Such a view says that everyone
is basically good. As the church has become more worldly, it has
espoused this high view of man, hence the increasing silence and
embarrassment in the churches when it comes to the language of sin
and redemption. But the Bible is unequivocal on this point: man apart
from God inevitably sins and breaks God's righteous commandments.

I know that already
there will be some, perhaps many, who will be objecting to this
point. But I ask you to consider for a moment the record of human
history. Is it a record of people being basically nice and good? Or
is human history a record of power-grabbing, oppression, and the
pursuit of solitary happiness? Solitary happiness says that my
happiness can come at the expense of others' misery; that is the
ethic of hell. Let me tell you, it never works to build your
happiness on someone else's unhappiness. If you are doing something
to make yourself happy that would hurt those closest to you, then it
is probably sinful. Like it or not we live in the same world as the
crusades, slavery and Communist Russia, and we possess the same human
nature as Nero, Napoleon, and Stalin. Think for a moment of your own
life as well. Is it free of moral complication? When was the last
time you broke one of the Ten Commandments? Have you ever known
something was wrong and yet still did it? This is one of the Bible's
definitions for sin. In the Epistle to the Romans, St. Paul quotes
our Psalm to make the point that both Jews and Gentiles have sinned.
Even though Jews have the Law, they are morally no superior to
Gentiles. St. Paul concludes his argument with these famous words,
“all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” (3.23).

I like to think of the
Bible as one continuous narrative. The central problem in the plot of
the Bible is sin and death, and so the Bible relates how God saves
humanity from sin and death and evil. The darkness of human sin and
brokenness is contrasted in the Bible with God's patience, mercy and
love. God's existence is not hidden, but rather God reveals it in the
world itself. Psalm 24 reads “The heavens declare the glory of God,
and the firmament his handiwork. There is neither speech nor language
where their voice is not heard.” We live in a world which shows us
that God exists. This is precisely why the Bible indicates that it is
the fool who says there is no God. Look at the world around us, the
order of this good creation. The axis of the earth is tilted just
enough to give us four seasons. Plants and animals supply one
another's needs in a delicate order and balance. Consider the
ordinary beauty of a wildflower. In it is contained a hint of the
good and kind and beautiful Creator himself. Man too has been given
an eternal soul and has been made in the image of God. Think of the
human capacity for love, joy and creativity. That such human beings
as Plato, Mozart and Shakespeare could exist by a mere accident
stretches the limit of credulity. I was told recently that even the
great advocate of atheism Richard Dawkins conceded in a debate that
his belief system could not account for beauty.

It would be easy at
this moment to give ourselves a pat on the back and say, at least I'm
not an atheist. I go to church and say the creed, I believe in one
God. I think this lets us off the hook too easily. Notice the wording
of the Psalm, “The fool has said in his heart
there is no God.” It is not simply referring to those who in the
outward profession are atheists. It also includes those who are
functionally atheist, that is, those who might say they believe in
God but do not
live as if he existed. I think most of us including myself fall all
too easily into this functional atheism. We come to church on Sunday,
say our prayers, but the rest of the week we direct the show. Or
perhaps we are given to think of God as the cosmic clockmaker who set
this world in motion, but now is basically hand-offs. He doesn't
intervene in human history and has no real interest in public or
private life. Anytime we reject God's providence in this way, we slip
into this type of atheism.

Despite
the stark realism of this Psalm, it also gives us hope for God's
redemption. Jesus Christ is at the center of the Bible's narrative.
The Old Testament looks forward to this Christ; the New Testament
proclaims him explicitly. In our Psalm today, there is a kind of
foreshadowing of that grim Friday in Jerusalem nearly 2000 years ago.
On that day, people acted as if there were no God. The Jews gave
false witness against Jesus and sought the death penalty for a man
who was innocent of any crime. The Romans acquiesced to mob rule and
condemned this man to one of the most heinous methods of execution
ever devised. Neither group had the fear of God before them. The
commoners too derided our Lord Jesus not because of any wrongdoing
but because of the lofty claims he had made for himself. Careless
laughter then and now is destructive both to those to whom it is
directed and even more so to
those who laugh. Even the disciples capitulated
to fear and abandoned
the courage to stand in defense of truth and principle. On that
day—in the words of the
Psalm—the Lord looked
down from heaven to see if there was
any who sought
after God, but everyone has proved faithless. Now if this were a
comic book or a novel, such poetic injustice would have to righted:
Jesus would have to reveal his divine glory, his superhuman powers
and mete out quick
justice. But, of course, this is just the opposite of what the
Evangelists say unfolded that day. Our Lord gives himself over in
sacrifice for the sins of those who are crucifying him. “Evildoers
eat him as if he were bread,” but
he
prays, “Father, forgive them.” He dies for the broken. He dies
for the sinful. He even dies for the atheistic, the
fool who says in his heart there is no God.
My brothers and sisters, “Deliverance has come out of Zion;” “The
Lord has restored our fortunes” by drawing us to himself in our
Lord Jesus through his sacrifice. Let us rejoice, let us be glad that
we have such a Saviour and Deliverer

Thursday, September 12, 2013

“Whoever of you does not renounce all
that he has cannot be my disciple.”

If I had to summarize Christianity in a
few words, I think the words “new life” would suffice. What does
the Christian Gospel promise to sinners? New life. What does it
promise to the weak and elderly? New life. What does it promise to
the young and perplexed as well as the full-grown and disillusioned?
Again, new life. All the major feasts of the Church Year has this in
common: they commend new life. Take, for example, Christmas. It is
set to correspond to the winter solstice, the darkest day of the
year. Human society living in its own light rather than God's light
inevitably turns to darkness. The eternal Word becomes flesh in the
grim midst of human sin and brokenness. At the moment of greatest
darkness, the Light appears. Something similar could be said about
Easter. On Good Friday we show God the worst we can be. In the
crucifixion there is a monumental subversion of justice; there is a
rejection of love freely given. All the ugliness of human sin is on
display, and on that day we fully what the evangelist John meant when
he said that he, the Word, came unto his own and his own received him
not. There is a sadness and melancholy in these words that have their
heart at the cross. We show God our worst, but he shows us his
greater love, grace and mercy. On Easter Day, God overcomes sin and
death by raising our Lord Jesus from the dead, which becomes for us
the promise of new, resurrected life.

In the Gospel today we have one of what
is known as the difficult sayings of Jesus. Customarily preachers are
expected to explain these sayings, but the usual result of such
attempts is to accommodate Jesus to the comfortable image we have of
him. But that is precisely what our Lord is not doing in the reading
this morning. He doesn't wait until he is with a handful of his
unwavering followers to say that they cannot be his disciples unless
they hate father, mother, wife and children. On the contrary he makes
this devastating statement when he sees that “great multitudes”
are with him. This is just the opposite of the way a cult works. In a
cult, the strangest doctrines are reserved for those who are so far
in they cannot imagine life on the outside. To outsiders, a cult
tries to appear as normal and pedestrian as possible. Our Lord's
teaching is the farthest thing from being secret in this sense. But
why be so abrasive and why say that a man must hate his family? To
the first I would refer to the words of the great 20th
century novelist Franz Kafka who wrote that a good book is to be like
an ice ax to break up the sea frozen inside of us. The truth is that
most of us are sleep-walkers or the walking dead. We go though life
thoughtlessly, without attention to the things of eternity, not
knowing what we are doing or why we are doing it. Something or
someone has to awaken us out of this slumber. Our Lord addresses
these words to those who would follow him merely out of a following
of the popular religious sentiment or out of an unwholesome religious
enthusiasm.

What our Lord is describing is new life
and discipleship. This new life is so radically different that it
must involve a death, the death namely of you and me. In fact, if the
New Testament is correct, this new life means a total reordering and
altering of our current lives. New life is a turning of our world and
the world upside down.

There are two prevailing religious
attitudes or rather two attitudes to religion that cannot receive
this message of new life. The first says that religion and church is
one part of a well-ordered life. A university student was once asked
what goals he had for his life. He thought for a moment and then
said, 'well, I'd like to get married and have children, and oh yeah,
someday go to heaven.” This attitude says that faith is one piece
of the pie that is life, with say career, family, hobbies being other
pieces. The message of new life says that faith is not a piece of the
pie, but rather that it transforms the entire pie. True faith, new
life will touch and transform every aspect of life.

The second attitude toward religion
comes closer to the spirit of true faith, but it too cannot hear or
won't receive the message of new life. This attitude says that I need
real help but that help is best administered by me. This attitude
represents those who treat faith as a form of self-help. People with
this attitude come to church in order to cope with the stresses of
life. For a person with this attitude the best church is the one that
is most therapeutic, the one that makes me feel good. What we
actually need, of course, is the truth even when it will be
unsettling and difficult. Further, any attitude that treats religion
as self-help misses the point that a makeover of the old you will not
suffice. What we need is total transformation and new life. Not a
makeover.

Imagine for a moment if someone in
recovery tried to adopt one of these attitudes on the road to
sobriety. Think of one who said, AA is a part of my life along with
work and family. But true recovery will involve the transformation of
every part of life from work to family. Think of someone else who
said I have this drinking problem and I want to stop drinking but I
don't really want to change any other aspect of my life. I want help
but not transformation. Anybody in recovery knows that neither road,
neither attitude, leads to sobriety.

Our Lord Jesus called the multitude to
new life, and he is calling us today to new life. He is not calling
you to religion or self-help but to resurrection, to complete
transformation by his grace. The gate to this new life is through
surrender and death, the cross. Our Lord says, whoever of you does
not renounce all that he has, he cannot be my disciple. When our Lord
speaks of renouncing all that we have I do not think he is referring
solely to material possessions. He is also, I believe, speaking to
our relationships. In our fallen condition we view the world through
the lens of our ego. My spouse exists to comfort me, my children
exist to carry on my image, my parents are present to be my heritage.
You are the protagonist in your own self-written and self-directed
drama. To the world this attitude is normal, but in the new life the
ego must die. New life means you love God more than even your family.
It also means you love your children for who they are rather than for
how much they resemble you. You love your spouse not for what
comforts he or she can bring but because you have pledged your troth,
your solemn vow to this person. You love your parents not for what
they can give you but because you're finally able to see them as they
truly are: broken and sinful people whom God loves just as much as
you. The world and even our families may not know how to account for
such transformation. Without the ego as the center of gravity such
love appears foreign and strange. Part of what is difficult about
this love is that it is a love first-most rooted and directed to God.
I believe this is what our Lord means when he speaks of hating mother
and father, spouse and children—and when he speaks of taking up our
cross. It is to this death but also this new life that we are called
this day and forevermore.